


dying to break through

by ahausonfire (thisiswherethefishlives)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Derek Nurse Has Some Very Serious Feelings About Journey, Dubious Consent, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, They're Both Extra As Hell, Voyeurism, William Poindexter Is Soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-05 23:22:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12199473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisiswherethefishlives/pseuds/ahausonfire
Summary: It starts with lavender bubble bath.(Okay, that’s a lie. It really starts the week before their junior year. And,really, it’s important to note that it’s the week before and not the week beforethatthat everything really started - a subtle differential, but a differential all the same - because two weeks before classes started, Derek was doing his damndest to not punch his roommate.)(But the week between moving in and the first day of classes?)(Yeah.)(That’s when it all began.)Honestly, Derek can’t remember the last time he was this resentful of a beauty product.





	dying to break through

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DizzyRedhead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyRedhead/gifts).



It starts with lavender bubble bath.

(Okay, that’s a lie. It really starts the week before their junior year. And, _really_ , it’s important to note that it’s the week before and not the week before _that_ that everything really started - a subtle differential, but a differential all the same - because two weeks before classes started, Derek was doing his damndest to not punch his roommate.)

(But the week between moving in and the first day of classes?)

(Yeah.)

(That’s when it all began.)

Honestly, Derek can’t remember the last time he was this resentful of a beauty product.

* * *

Asshole. D-man. Fellow student and compatriot. Friend, if you squint.

Going into their junior year - _hell, going into their junior year as roommates_ \- Derek wasn’t really prepared to see Dex as anything other than what he had always been... an all around pain in the ass.

Of course, much like everything else in the mess that is Derek’s life, it didn’t matter that Derek wasn’t prepared. It just... it didn’t matter at all. Because after a week of being at each other's throats and bickering over every unclaimed inch of space, Derek could _never_ have been prepared for the way that he’s been reduced to actively aching for his douchebag of a roommate.

Which.

The fuck.

Like, he didn’t sign up for this, okay? He didn’t sign up for the casual, graceful way that Dex touches _everything_ he holds dear - just stroking this and petting that, a fond smile firmly affixed as Dex appreciates and takes care of his things.

It’s ridiculous.

The very idea that William J. Poindexter would take the time to pick up one of the worry stones that his sister-in-law had given him last year (and really, the fact that Derek _knows_ this is beyond), carefully running his thumb along the curves, polishing it with a fond smile before picking up his phone to call home?

Ridiculous.

The realization that William J. Fucking Poindexter takes an exorbitant amount of time after his showers to apply moisturizer to his skin? Buffing it into his shoulders and forearms and ankles like it’s his mission in life?

Horrible.

(The fact that Derek knows that Dex favors products for sensitive skin and that he knows that Dex always smells faintly of milk and honey? It’s beyond. What the fuck.)

Two years of bickering and hard-won (and often begrudging) friendship did not prepare Derek for the reality of William J. Poindexter: Creature of Comforts and Knick-Knack Aficionado.

It’s like he’s a shiny new person, and it’s (embarrassingly) all that Derek can think about.

* * *

“Y’know, I never took you to be a materialistic dude, Poindexter.” It’s not much of a chirp, but that in itself is easy enough to explain away given Derek’s current sobriety levels (or lack thereof). And, like, it’s not like he’s had that much to drink, but it’s _easier_ to just let Dex bear his weight up the stairs and into their room than it is to explain that he’s not that drunk. “I used to think you were, like, above that - like, that you were some kind of fuckin’ tortured hero, but then we start living together and I learn the truth. You like honey chapstick and glittery bath bombs, and I’m pretty sure you have a shrine of knick-knacks that would make a dragon jealous.

“I thought you were Heathcliff, man, but you’re just Smaug.”

(And, okay, maybe he’s a _little_ schwasted, but that’s _okay_. It’s _fine_ , because Dex is pushing him into the bottom bunk, and Dex is pulling off his shoes, and Derek is _allowed_ to get drunk at the first kegster of the year, okay?)

“Shut the fuck up, Nurse,” Dex grumbles, even as he pushes a water bottle into Derek’s hands, careful not to spill anything between them as he unscrews the top (and really, how many hockey players does it take to open a bottle of water). “There’s a difference between being materialistic and being appreciative. Not all of us can blow through three iphones in a semester. Some of us have to take care of our things.”

It’s a debate that they’ve had before, but here in the dim, dark quiet of their room, insulated from the throbbing bass and the sticky press of the crowd, it’s soft.  _Dex_ is soft, all gentle hands and patience even as he lectures Derek to death, tucking him in with an amount of care that Derek’s only witnessed before from the corner of his eye. And really, the whole thing should be less of a turn on.

“Look, I’m not gonna have this argument with you when you’re too drunk to get into your own damn bed, but- I’m not, okay? Liking nice things and taking care of them when I’ve got them? Treating myself to little things? It’s just… it’s sensible. It’s fuckin’ _normal_ , Nurse - it’s what real people do.”

And, yeah. Dex is right. This _totally_ isn’t Derek’s bed. But the flannel sheets smell like Dex (warm, and lived in - which, for real, gross, because Derek knows first hand what guys do in their beds - but also, not gross… because Dex smells like eucalyptus shampoo and that milk and honey lotion he picked up at the last farmer’s market, and sometimes he’s everything Derek wants to get his hands on all at once), and the puffy down blanket that Dex has had since their freshman year is heavy and warm in the best of ways, and sleep sounds like an excellent idea.

Because, like. They can fight about this tomorrow.

(Dex is totally Smaug. Derek is winning everything _forever_.)

* * *

Like everything else in Derek’s life, things get worse before they get better.

(The fact that Dex is involved unfortunately means that things will get worse before they go nuclear… and, okay, Derek is obviously in too fucking deep, because he’s kind of okay with that?)

( _Horrible_.)

Because, like, Derek wakes up after the inaugural kegster to a killer headache, a trio of water bottles next to his pillow, and the unmistakable and completely unforgivable strains of dad rock pouring from the bathroom.

Which. _Like_. No.

A quick, fuzzy glance at their alarm clock shows that it’s not even seven in the morning, and Derek is about to lose his fucking mind. Because this is taking things _too_ far. This is _beyond_. Like, it’s almost as if Dex has never heard of the Geneva Convention.

Overdramatic? Perhaps.

Accurate? You bet your bottom-fucking-dollar.

Granted, Derek knows that he’s not necessarily at his best while dealing with a hangover, but as he wracks his pounding brain, he can’t find _anything_ in the history of the entire world that is nearly as offensive as waking up to Journey.

Seriously. Fuck Journey.

With his entire body feeling simultaneously like static and concrete, Derek forces himself out of Dex’s unsettlingly comfortable bunk (like, really, how is it that the most uptight bro in the history of bros manages to have the softest and most comfortable bed in the history of beds). He’s about to haul open the bathroom door to make sure Dex knows _exactly_ how Derek feels when he hears it.

_It_.

The completely unmistakable and unfathomable sound of a muffled groan.

Steve Perry warbles about the lights going down in the city (and really, Derek has been living with Dex for too fucking long if he can identify the former lead singer of Journey - and, oh god, he knows too fucking much, but Dex was so excited about the newest singer, so Derek couldn’t help but research too? And, like, Arnel seems like a really chill little dude… which is yet _another_ reason why Derek is ashamed of his extreme thirst. Because, _yeah_. Dex is hot, but. Fucking _Journey_ , man.), when Derek hears another moan.

Between the music and the relative thickness of the bathroom walls, it should be impossible to make out the way that Dex is obviously _choking the chicken_ , and yet - despite all logic - Derek can hear it loud as day.

He will literally _never_ forgive Dex if this becomes a thing.

* * *

Obviously, it becomes a thing. By the time Dex clears out of the bathroom, all that’s left to investigate is the fogged up mirror above the sink and the lingering, humid scent of Dex’s lavender bubbles of choice.

It’s not really enough evidence to prove anything aside from Dex’s preference in bath paraphernalia, but it settles beneath Derek’s skin all the same - the complete and utter certainty that Dex was _spanking the monkey_ in the next room - loud enough for Derek to hear, and nearly close enough for him to touch.

It’s a mind fuck in the worst possible way.

* * *

(Somehow, at the next kegster, Journey ends up on Ollie’s Throwback Blowback playlist (whatever the fuck _that_ means) and Derek gets to half-mast before he knows what’s happening.)

(Fuck Journey.)

(For _real._ )

* * *

Turns out, in a completely unsurprising turn of events, Dex has a routine for _wrestling the eel_ just like he’s got a routine for everything else. It’s kind of the most ridiculous thing, because from where Derek’s standing, it’s not even remotely subtle.

No, there’s nothing covert and secretive about the way that Dex sets up his portable speakers on the radiator cover, and it’s not like he’s hiding when he measures out the precise amount of bubble bath into the tub (three tablespoons - no more, no less - of the lavender suds that Chowder had gifted Dex last year for Christmas). Even the way that Dex takes the time to massage out the aches in his calves as the bath fills to the brim is measured and open - as if every step to this routine weren’t leading up to something sexy and secret and separate.

As if it weren’t glaringly obvious that Dex was about to _polish his rocket_.

As if Derek didn’t catch himself listening with bated breath for any indication - any clue - that Dex was _jerkin’ his gherkin_.

And, okay.

Logically, Derek knows that it’s kind of gross in a voyeuristic, pervy kind of way that he’s this invested in Dex’s one-on-one time. He _knows_ this, but it’s hard to stop paying attention once he knows what to look for. Like, he’s tried to just walk away when Dex announces that he’s going to take a bath, but then he just spends the rest of the day daydreaming about everything that might have happened in his absence - every hitched breath and every splash of water against the tiled floor.

It’s not something that Derek’s proud of, but it’s not something he can stop either.

He’s tried.

He’s _tried_ , but every time Derek finds something else to focus on instead, Dex reels him back in with a casual caress of his toolbox (lacquered to a high shine, no doubt by Dex himself), or a pleased little quirk of the lips when he pulls on an especially soft sweater, or a delighted sigh as he digs into a BLT that he’s whipped up for himself (and, okay, maybe Derek was skeptical at first over the culinary merits of a good BLT, but then Dex made him one just to prove a point and it ended up being the best thing Derek’s had in a long time - Dex was smug about it for _ages_ , the dick).

It’s just too much for Derek to handle. It’s _so_ much, and it leaves Derek aching - aching to touch, aching to provide, aching to bring simple pleasures into Dex’s life on the regular.

Like, it’s _gross_ , because now when Derek sees something pretty (or useful) (or soft) (or delicious), his first impulse is to bring it home for Dex. Dex, who is his friend and his frenemy - his roommate and his partner.

_Dex_ , who is simultaneously the best and the worst person Derek’s ever known, maddening and brilliant and too unwittingly gorgeous for his own fucking good...

It’s _super_ gross.

* * *

In the grand scheme of things, everything comes to a head much sooner than Derek could have anticipated, but that’s life for you. Or whatever. Point is, they’re well on their way into midterms and Derek is still overthinking _everything_ when it happens.

It’s just.

Somewhere along the line, Derek shifted from being a passive observer into more of an actively participating voyeur, and _look_ \- he _knows_ that it’s not a good thing. He knows that he’s crossing all kinds of lines and boundaries, and that if Dex ever found out their friendship would be torpedoed into a thousand tiny little pieces.

The thing of it is… Derek’s never been great with self control, and he’s never been one to deny himself the things that he really wants. Not well, at least. _And the thing of it is_ , he’s tried with the whole Dex thing. He’s tried so fucking hard, but after awhile it’s hard to think about boundaries when your roommate has your dick trained to go to half chub at the mere _mention_ of taking a bath.

(It’s just one indignity after another these days.)

So, yeah.

It becomes a thing, and at the end of the day, Derek learned a long time ago that the easiest way to deal with a _thing_ is to just roll with it. Which is really just a long and drawn out explanation for how he’s come to mostly forgive himself for jerking it like a fucking fiend whenever Dex decides to take a bath.

The fucked up thing _is_ that as rigid as it is, Dex’s _five knuckle shuffle_ routine has paved the way for a regimen of Derek’s own, which… is super embarrassing in itself.

Of course, the second he started giving in was the second it became impossible to stop. From that point on, it was almost as if his reactions were fine-tuned to everything that is, was, and ever will be William J. Poindexter. From the way that Derek’s skin goes all flush and warm listening to Dex hum quietly as the water runs - how it feels like Derek’s entire body is held tense once the music starts up, tight and rigid as he holds himself close to the door, listening desperately for more - how Derek’s nipples peak when Dex moans, an audible caress that has him aching to be touched - how Derek’s hands make quick work of his arousal, only giving in to the sparking need to touch himself once he’s sure that Dex is _playing a little five on one_ himself.

There’s a rhythm to the scene, a well-worn cadence that takes Derek apart every time, and it’s always the same.

Until it’s not, and really, Derek is just not prepared for this shit.

Because the problem is, you don’t expect things to change until it’s already fucking happened, which is why Derek gets caught red-handed when he least expects it - pressed to the bathroom door, listening intently, when William J. Poindexter opens their bedroom door.

“Hey Nurse, I’m ho- _okay_ , sorry, but... what the fuck are you doing?”

From the other side of the door ‘Don’t Stop Believin’’ plays on, and it’s only as his entire world crashes down around him that Derek finally hears Farmer singing along.

(Seriously, though.)

( _Seriously._ )

(Fuck Journey.)

* * *

There are certain things in this world that can be taken as fact.

William J. Poindexter? He’s a stubborn (fact), nosey (fact), horrible person (debatable), and right now, in this moment, he is not about to let this shit go ( _double_ fact).

It’s kind of the worst. Because despite all of Derek’s hopes and dreams and desperate pleas, Dex refused to just, like, back slowly out the door while simultaneously forgetting that he ever walked in on Derek (with his embarrassing, super evident boner straining at the front of his jeans and his ear pressed damningly to the bathroom door).

“So, let’s try this again, because I’m _really_ not understanding,” Dex says from where he’s sitting across from Derek, his words dripping with disdain even as every inch of his posture screams of discomfort. “You’re telling me that you _weren’t_ perving on Farmer - our friend who happens to be very much together with our _best friend_ \- while she was taking a bath? Am I getting that right, or do you have another lie for me to believe instead?”

“Oh my god, I _told_ you, I had no idea Farmer was in there.” If Derek’s voice is pitchy and sharp, it’s only because they’ve been circling around this for the past thirty minutes, and Dex keeps looking at him like he’s something disgusting. Which. _Fair_ , considering the evidence, but _still_. “I don’t know what I have to do or say to make you believe me, but it’s the truth. I would never have been listening at the door if I knew that Farmer was in there.”

Dex huffs at that, just like he’s done with every single fucking thing that Derek’s said in his own defense. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to believe, Nurse. Like, it would have been questionable enough if you had been listening at the door, but let’s not pretend that you didn’t have the biggest boner _ever_ over whatever it is you were hearing. Like… how am I supposed to look Farmer in the face now?

"Seriously, Nurse, you have to tell her, or I will.”

“I thought it was _you_ , okay?” Derek doesn’t mean to raise his voice, but there’s only so far he can let this charade go without fucking snapping, and it’s one thing to ruin his friendship with Dex over his gross behavior, but it’s another thing entirely to lose _everyone_ over a series of half-truths and awkward circumstances.

Of course, it’s easier to think that in your internal monologue than it is to live that truth, because in the span of time that it takes for Derek to have this mental freakout, Dex has gone silent. Silent and bug-eyed, and Derek is obviously beyond fucking gone on him, because he still wants to kiss up on Dex even when he looks like a moron. Which. Yeah, it’s bad. The silence on Dex’s part, though, is worse, because it’s enough to make Derek drag himself further through the mud. “ _Yes_ , I was perving, but I thought I was perving on _you_ , and I’m sorry, okay? I just… I’m sorry.”

“How does that make any sense?” Dex says, hands coming up to pull at his hair. “I don’t- _How?_ How am I supposed to believe this when you’re all- when you’re _you?_ ”

“I don’t really know how I’m supposed to an-”

“No. _Nope_. Stop there,” Dex says, hands untangling from his hair only to start massaging at his temple. “You are _supposed_ to tell me the truth right now, that’s what you’re supposed to do. This shit is bad enough without you fabricating an entire alternate reality where you’re suddenly creepily into me.”

In the moment, more than anything, Dex looks lost. He looks lost, and young, and terribly sad, and it’s kind of the worst thing in the world, because all Derek wants to do is fix it. Which is unfortunate, because he knew going into this that the whole thing would be a slippery slope.

(But Derek has _always_ been bad at self-control.)

“She was listening to Journey, okay?”

Dex throws his hands up in response to Derek’s confession, like he’s finally reached the point of no return, and that… it’s not okay. It’s _not_ , because right now the only thing that matters is that Dex _listens_ , which is probably why it seems like a good idea in the moment for Derek to lean forward until he can wrap his fingers around Dex’s wrists to steady them - to keep Dex in place, if only for long enough to listen.

(It’s such a bad fucking idea.)

“No, just _listen_ , okay? She was playing Journey, and I thought it was _you_. Because you always listen to Journey when you take a bath - _always_. Believe me, I wish you didn’t, because I fucking _hate_ that band, but at this point I’m pretty familiar with their entire discography because it’s what you like.

“I know this because I know _you_. I know that you prefer the bubble bath that Chowder gave you to the chamomile bath bombs you picked up at the mall last month. I know that you listen to Journey every single fucking time. I know that you have a strict routine on bath days, and I know that jerking off is part of it.

“I _know_ this because I pay attention to you and because I’m far too invested in the things that bring you pleasure.”

From the constipated look on Dex’s face, this is clearly not what he had been expecting, but at least he’s not accusing Derek of being _more_ of a perv than he actually is (because, look, the whole thing looks bad, but he would _never_ do anything to make Farmer uncomfortable, and he’d _never_ forgive himself if he took advantage of or infringed upon her relationship with Chowder).

Carefully, _carefully_ , Derek lets go of Dex’s wrists before leaning back out of his space, because it’s really the least he can do.

And carefully, _(carefully)_ , Derek waits for Dex to pass his judgment. Because he kind of deserves it.

What he gets instead is the room to himself as Dex stands up from the computer chair he had been perched and flees from the room.

All things considered, the whole thing went better than Derek could have expected.

(He still feels like shit.)

* * *

The thing about feeling like shit over their earlier confrontation is that Derek is kind of prepared for Dex to hate him.

Like, he’s honestly ready for Dex to never talk to him again, or for Dex to ask Chowder to switch rooms with him, or for the whole thing to be sorted out before the Samwell Hockey Court.

He’s ready for the worst, which is why Dex letting himself back into the room less than an hour later doesn’t really register. Because, like, Derek’s been building himself up for the scolding of a fucking lifetime, but this-

Yeah, this is Dex hooking their portable speakers to his phone, and this is Steve Perry warbling about doing anything to hold you, and Derek kind of wants to die, because he _hates_ Journey. He hates Journey with a fucking passion, but then Dex is crowding into Derek’s space, and it’s nothing at all like Derek had been expecting.

“We need to talk about your general creepiness,” Dex says, soft and intent, as if he wasn’t referencing the most horrible series of life choice that Derek has ever made. “We’re _going_ to talk about it, but first I’m going to kiss you. Because you’re an asshole, and apparently you’re a huge fucking creep sometimes, but _apparently_ I’m kind of into that. _Apparently_ I have terrible taste when it comes to men. _Mostly_ when it comes to you.”

The smile on Dex’s face is equal parts smug and nervous and _happy_ , and it’s kind of ridiculously attractive. It’s possibly the most attractive face Derek’s ever seen, which is probably the reason why he takes the opportunity and runs with it.

(Because, like… as tempting as it is to tell Dex to go fuck himself, Derek would really rather just kiss him.)

* * *

“You know,” Dex purrs as his fingers stroke along the seam of Derek’s zipper, painfully close to where Derek is aching to be touched (and really, the fact that Dex is a tease? Not as shocking as it could be), “for someone that ‘hates’ Journey as much as you do, you don't seem to have much of a problem with them now.”

‘Any Way You Want It’ is streaming from the portable speakers, and Derek would be significantly more put out by the current soundtrack of choice if he wasn’t ridiculously, _embarrassingly_ , into Dex.

(It doesn’t help that Dex’s hand is hot and heavy on Derek’s dick.)

(The fact that the whole afternoon has been a whirlwind - from his discovery, to the inevitable confrontation, which somehow lead to _kissing_ … shit, the whole thing’s got Derek more than slightly poleaxed.)

(So, yeah. Derek can get past the shitty music, but half-assed chirping? That’s an entire thing altogether.)

“God, fuck off and touch me, Poindexter. I _hate_ this band - it's not my fault that my dick’s got some kind of Pavlovian response to you and your shitty music.”

Dex's fingers pause for a moment, which was _so_ not what Derek was going for, but then they're playing with the button of his jeans as Dex's breath fans humid on his neck, carefully lowering the zip even as his other hand tangles in Derek’s hair.

“We're gonna bench that for later, Nursey.”

And, look. _Talking_ about his weird infatuation with William J. Poindexter with the Smaug-man himself is totally _not_ on Derek's to-do list, but then Dex's fingers are wrapping around Derek's dick, and there's _nothing_ that Dex can't have.

_Nothing_.

* * *

“So,” Dex says, lips close enough to Derek’s skin that he’s basically pressing his words against Derek’s neck, “tell me about this Pavlovian dick thing you have for me.”

The fact that Dex can think straight after their (hopefully) epic mutual handjobs would have Derek second-guessing his skills if he was with anyone else, but this is… yeah, this is kind of what he wants to sign up for.

Because life with the Smaugling has never been boring, and this? Chirping and teasing and challenging each other? It’s kind of been the backbone of their relationship since day one.

Fuck, it’s basically foreplay at this point (literally and figuratively, and _seriously_ , they need to clean up the jizz ASAP if they don’t want things to get gross fast).

The fact that affection and attraction has blatantly come into play?

Yeah.

The least that Derek can do is use his words.

(So he does.)

* * *

(And if Dex gets all blushy and soft when Derek tells him about the beginning - the beautiful way that Dex moves his fingers when he’s appreciating something lovely and the small, and the sincere smile that graces his face when he’s found something _nice_ \- well, if that happens, it’s totally worth it. _Everything’s_ worth it. Seriously, Derek can’t remember the last time he was so thankful for the existence of lavender bubble bath.)

(Journey still sucks though.)

(Fuck those guys.)

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to DizzyRedhead for the ridiculous amounts of patience and encouragement that went towards this silly little fic. What started out as a love letter to Dex, Nursey, and Neon Trees somehow devolved into a strongly-worded rant about Journey. 
> 
>  
> 
> _(I love Journey.)_


End file.
